


Interservice Rivalry

by Decepticonsensual



Series: The World Is Not Enough (Tales from Autobot Spec Ops) [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 20:23:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2441834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decepticonsensual/pseuds/Decepticonsensual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Wreckers don't trust Special Operations, and Spec Ops doesn't think much of the Wreckers, either - but when they're about to ship out on a dangerous mission?  Well, everybody's got to blow off a little steam somehow.  Sticky; contains group sex and some consensual violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interservice Rivalry

With a guttural snarl and a twist of his legs that was almost too fast to track, Mirage flipped them both over; one second he was flat on his back, with Whirl straddling him, snickering as he scored deep grooves in Mirage’s pristine plating with his claws, and the next he had Whirl pinned to the floor.

Whirl cackled.  ”Now we’re talking!  Not bad, See-through -” there was the faint hum of weapons charging up, and Whirl’s chest guns came online with a click, the left one inches from Mirage’s face - “but you let yourself get a little too close to  _these.”_

Mirage sneered.  ”Please, as if that  _wasn’t_ part of the plan.”  Dipping his head, searing yellow optics glaring up through his battlemask at Whirl, Mirage slowly dragged the tip of his tongue up the underside of the nearest gun.  Whirl shouted and squirmed, thrashing against Mirage’s tight hold on his waist, and the spy took the gun barrel in his mouth, slurping at it obscenely.

Whirl’s panel shot open, spike already pressurising and valve glistening.  When Mirage drew back to get a better look, smirking and openly assessing Whirl’s array as if he were in an art gallery, the Wrecker reached up and, with a kind of sadistic tenderness, drew the tip of his claw gently over Mirage’s cheek, leaving a line of energon droplets just underneath his optic.  ”You’re pretty cocky for a guy without inbuilt weapons,” he panted, fans whirring.

Mirage shoved Whirl’s legs apart and hoisted one over his shoulder, hand dragging possessively over the delicate sweep of it.  His other hand started to explore Whirl’s interface array, two fingertips dipping just inside the entrance to his valve, in a way that made Whirl whine.  ”And you’re pretty  _wet_  for someone who was so skeptical of my skills earlier.”

"You getting on with this or not?" Whirl demanded, his strained voice starting to crackle with static.

"Maybe."  Mirage’s fingers left his valve and inched playfully up his spike, just tapping it lightly here and there, as if he were doing the motions to that Earth rhyme Jazz had shown him, "The Itsy-Bitsy Spider".  "Feel like asking me nicely?"

"Frag you!"

“ _Barbarian.”_

"Spooky _freak.”_

Across the room, Tracks laughed and managed to call out, “Just put him out of his misery, ‘Raj, he’s clearly desperate for mmmmph -” before he was silenced by Twin Twist’s tongue in his mouth.  The Jumpstarters had Tracks sandwiched between them, and the spy’s continual snarky commentary on everyone else’s antics couldn’t disguise that he himself had been reduced to a trembling, drippy mess by Twin Twist and Topspin’s attentions.  Which was exactly the point, because Tracks was going to need all the preparation he could get for what was coming next.

He whimpered softly as Topspin picked him up by the waist, Twin Twist’s grip on his thighs keeping him steady.  Tracks focused on working Twin Twist’s drills, stroking the grooves on one while carefully lapping at the other, but he lost any hope of concentrating when Topspin’s spike started pushing inside him, causing him to shiver and press eagerly into the slow stretch.  Tracks threw back his head and gave an honest-to-Primus  _scream_ when the head of Twin Twist’s spike nudged its way inside him alongside Topspin’s.

The scream made Getaway look up from where his long, clever fingers were doing what they did best - working their way patiently inside the galaxy’s stubbornest locks and tickling all those tricky inner components until they eagerly sprang open.  For “lock” read “valve” in this case, but it was amazing how similar the principles were.  ”Tracks, mate, you all right?”  Tracks threw him a distracted thumbs up and moaned loudly as the Jumpstarters began pistoning into him.

A hand curled around the back of Getaway’s neck.  ”I don’t believe I gave you permission to stop,” Perceptor’s cool voice drawled.  Kneeling next to Getaway, Skids smirked.  Trust Skids to somehow be able to pull off smirking with his mouth stuffed full of spike.  Smug fragger.

Perceptor sighed dreamily as they both went back to work on him, and he stroked their helms fondly.

None of the three of them even looked up when Kup’s body smacked into the floor next to them, shoved down and straddled by a furious whirlwind of black and white.  ” -  _ounce_  of respect for one  _damn_ thing Spec Opcs does, you tin-plated old fragger!” Jazz was shouting, even as he grabbed Kup’s spike and sank down on it, picking up the rhythm of their fragging again as if they’d never stopped.  In a way, they hadn’t - it had been one continual frag, from end to end of the room, punctuated by tossing each other around.

Kup sucked on his cygar and grinned up at the Spec Ops field commander angrily riding him.  ”Respect is earned, kid, and sneaking around within invisibility mods -” Jazz was getting rougher, and Kup’s hips were arching up to meet every clanging thrust - “or downloading a few files here and there - or sucking Decepticon spike in exchange for secrets -“

Jazz let out a yell that was half release, half pure aggravation, as he grabbed Kup’s collar fairing in a punishing grip, and Kup broke off with a strangled moan.

Surveying the room, Springer noticed Whirl writhing on the floor, in ecstasy and, apparently, all alone.  It wasn’t until he processed Whirl’s strange posture - arms thrown over his head, legs in the air - and caught a glimpse of the weirdly fascinating way Whirl’s valve was flexing and contracting that Springer realised the copter was being pounded by a now-invisible Mirage.  Tracks had overloaded and gone happily slack in Twin Twist’s and Topspin’s arms as they fragged him; across from the three of them, Skids was sitting back on his heels, his face and chest splattered with Perceptor’s transfluid, and the microscope was murmuring something that made Skids blush.

To each his own, thought Springer.  He couldn’t always fathom it, but everyone dealt with pre-mission anxiety in their own ways.

For example, some did paperwork.

He turned and nudged Prowl with his foot, causing the Autobot second to look up from his datapad.  ”Hey.  You sure you don’t want in on this?  Or do you prefer just to watch?”

"I’m not watching, I’m supervising," Prowl replied, tapping the screen to bring up an equipment requisition form.  "Do you really imagine I’d be here for my own entertainment?  I need to ensure that nothing gets too badly out of hand, or one of us will end up heading into action with injured mechs."

"But look at them, they’re fine!"  A yelp from the direction of Kup and Jazz belied his words, but Springer decided to ignore it.  If  _those_ two, of all mechs, couldn’t handle themselves, both teams might as well pack it in anyway.  ”And you can’t tell me that you don’t need to blow off a little steam yourself.  Pit, I  _know_ I do.”

With any other mech, Springer probably would have started laying on the innuendo hot and heavy, or taunted them about being too scared to give it a try.  But this was  _Prowl._ After a moment’s thought, Springer said, almost offhand, “It’d be a lot more  _efficient_  for the two of us to just take care of each other.”

Prowl’s head came up in surprise.

And then he grinned.


End file.
